07 Dec Inked Progression
One of the final assignments in our 8th grade social studies class was to write a letter to our future selves. We were asked to describe our views on life, detail what mattered most to us, and outline our dreams and wishes for the future. Our teacher, the wonderful Ms. Perry, told us she would hold onto these letters and mail them to us around the time of our high school graduation.
We spent a whole week of class time writing our letters and then sealing and self-addressing them. I can still remember the big plastic bin Ms. Perry brought out and the way we walked up to the bin one-by-one to place our letters neatly inside.
Four years later, I went out to get the mail and found a letter addressed to me. I recognized the handwriting as my own from so many years before.
I couldn’t wait to open the envelope, curious about what I had written and excited to read an in-depth perspective on what the earlier version of myself thought about life and what I had envisioned for my future.
Except that my letter was terrible. It was short and lacked meaningful detail. I had barely answered the questions and I sounded every bit like an insolent teen, responding that some of the questions we had been asked to write about weren’t interesting. I also used the word “anyways,” several times, which I am embarrassed to even admit.
Every once in a while I think back on that letter and I’m mad at myself all over again for wasting the opportunity to have a meaningful record of how I saw the world at the age of 14.
Whether it’s 8th grade letters we write to our future selves, tucked away diaries or journals we keep, or the metaphorical pages and chapters of our life, it’s common to look back on some parts with regret and disappointment, wishing we could erase certain pages from our memory or do things a different way.
But maybe there is a way to hold regret about the past more tenderly and show ourselves some self-compassion. After all, most of the time we are doing the best we can at that moment, and turning pages often become turning points as we change and grow. As Maya Angelou once said, “Do the best you can until you know better. And then when you know better, do better.”
Next time I think about that letter or some part of my past I wish I had done differently, I’m going to gently remind myself to continue that sentence by adding, “…and, at the time, I couldn’t.”